


Three Of A Perfect Pair

by twinkfloyd



Category: Rush (Band), The Police (Band)
Genre: Gen, Implied Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-27
Updated: 2019-02-26
Packaged: 2019-11-06 08:31:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17936366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twinkfloyd/pseuds/twinkfloyd
Summary: Andy tries to fix things between the band. The band has other plans.





	1. Time Out For The Shitty Committee

“Yayyy! The park the park the park we’re going to the park!” Stew bounced up and down grabbing his frisbee and rollerskates. Gord tailed behind him with his yoga mat rolled under an arm into Andy’s mini. It was a beautiful unseasonably warm February day that had absolutely nothing to do with anthropogenic global climate change; daffodils and hyacinths were already starting to poke their way up out of the ground and chickadees gaily twittered about under a rare blue English sky. 

As they rode past, their large golden retriever grew increasingly excited as they got to the park, that is, until Andy continued driving right past it. “Wait th-” Stewart bolted upright in his seat. The car doors locked and now both of them were frantically looking around as they grew further out of sight. “This isn’t the park- this is not the park?!!” Without speaking, the guitarist turned into a office complex. Both of them glanced at each other and immediately started rattling their handles, beating on the windows. “THIS ISN’T THE PARK.”

The three of them sat across from each other in the tiny waiting room glowering at Andy who sat crosslegged idly flipping through a copy of Highlights from 10 years ago. Gordon looked over at Stewart who hadn’t moved since they got here, his skates clutched stiffly in his lap, then back at an incredibly uncomfortable looking old lady who was already having a hard day before they decided to bring their bad vibes into this place. The door opened and the receptionist poked her head in, “Mr Summers, Dr. Hyde will see you and your… partners.” 

The blondes slunk in, eying the decorations, a little plastic fern, a vague geometric painting, an acrylic tchotchke, hang in there baby poster on the wall. “This doesn’t look like a doctor’s office,” Gordon squinted insightfully, “I thought we were headed to get Stew dewormed-”

“I have NEVER had worms shut your shitty little bitch mouth!” he shouted nearly smacking him with his swinging skates. 

“Well, it is a doctor’s office,” the woman sitting in the nicest most swivelest looking chair addressed them, “I’m a psychologist, specializing in couples therapy. Now what brings you here today? Andy says there’s been a lot of tension between you lately, do you feel this is an accurate statement?”

The inclusion of a small almost nonexistant window behind Dr Hyde’s head added insult to injury, the sunshine outside barely penetrated the dim cloister of a room. “Sting?” Her soft quavering voice caught him off guard being addressed directly. “How about you go first? Do you feel your relationship with your band mates has been strained these past few months?” She leaned forward earnestly, trying to appear interested and focused on him, who was busy scowling roguishly. 

Andy gave him an imploring look to ‘please just do this for us’ although according to everyone this situation was 100% his fault for bringing it up in the first place. Sitting back, he sighed exasperatedly half rolling his eyes. “I guess.”

“You guess.” Stewart sneered interrupting. Andy shot him a look. 

“I guess there’s been tension. I’m extremely famous so there’s been a lot of pressure to be amazing all the time- it’s been hard even for me.”

“Wow.”

“Wait your turn, do I have to bring out the talking stick.” The doctor turned back to Gordon, “So you feel there’s been a lot of pressure on you, is this coming from Andy and Stewart or some place else? Do you feel they’re not under the same scrutiny as you and don’t recognize and support you during your struggle?”

While the prospect of being psychowhatevered was thoroughly agonizing, Sting was growing extremely entertained at this kind of attention, giving his complaints a platform where everyone had to listen to him. “Definitely, I’m the face of the band, I write all the songs-”

“SOME”

“...Most of the songs and I just frankly have to pull a lot more weight around here.”

“...unbelievable…”

“Stewart, would you like to go next you sound like you have something to say.”

He looked utterly flabbergasted at all of this- while normally easy going, the drummist was clearly still agitated from the park incident and Sting’s creative interpretation wasn’t helping. “This kind of bullshit is exactly the problem! He gets all the credit while we’re stuck working just as hard for peanuts!”

“Stewart please use ‘I’ statements.”

“.../I/ am unappreciated even though /I/ have the hardest job here. You try and do it, see if you make it through a song let alone a whole tour.”

Andy snorted a little although he’d promised himself not to get involved- already being the most hated man in the country, or at least the room for inciting this. Still, someone had to do something when they ended up at each others throats ad nauseum for the dumbest reasons. 

“/You/ wouldn’t still be in this band if it wasn’t for your brother.”

“That is- what?! That’s patently untrue, though there wouldn’t still be a band if it wasn’t for me and him. It’s not STING and the Stingerettes… even though I’d look better in a pair of black and yellow thigh highs than you ever could.”

Now Sting was mad because he was right and he couldn’t stop thinking about it. 

“...Andy, you’re the one who scheduled this appointment with me, let’s hear your take on the conflict present.”

Andy swallowed a little nervously, all eyes on him with varying intensity and expectations. “Well, I’ve noticed there’s been a lot of fighting but not a lot of communication. I want things to be a little more collaborative like they used to be or else things are inevitably going to fall apart and all the newspaper will say is ‘creative differences’.” He clasped his hands diplomatically in his apolitical lap, not that he wanted to stand back for the bigger egos to duke it out, but like he said, they’d get nowhere with everyone quarreling. Somebody had to be the adult here and well needless to say he’s was the only one qualified. Big certificate up on the wall- “Andrew Summers: Real Adult Baby Man”, right next to the platinum records- above them.

“Well, from what it sounds like, the issue everyone has here is a lack of equality and cooperation where everyone feels valued. This can be an easy solution but, it requires effort from everyone. For example, Sting, you say you’re overworked because too much focus is put on you- Stewart claims he works hard too, but his work isn’t valued the way yours is. Maybe if you let him share more of your duties and allow him to have that spotlight, he’d feel better about his contributions and you wouldn’t have so much to worry about.”

Simple enough. 3 musicians, split it into 3, except in Sting’s mind he was 1 (one) people and therefore not capable of such a thing. “It’s not my problem he’s jealous, I’d let him have more songs if he wrote any decent songs.” 

“Now let’s not antagonize anyone,” the psychologist held out her hands like someone trying to hold off lions in the bush as they slowly backed away people bits intact,” I’m sure Stewart is more than capable of that if you give him the opportunity.” At the moment he was barely capable of restraining himself from aggravated assault and Andy wasn’t exactly nonplussed either. 

“So you’re saying make a shitty record just so everyone feels good about themselves? Why don’t we all just hold hands and cover Kumbaya.”

“It’s not copyrighted-”

“Or you could give us more credit doing our parts mein fuher, what do you even know about drumming. If they didn’t see you holding some sort of guitar custom made for losers, no one would even know you played anything. Why don’t you just take up the tambourine, it’d be more appropriate.”

“That’s a real cheap shot coming from somebody whose job is to smack shit.”

“I’ll smack your shit; it must be hard being a frontman who looks like a cursed troll doll. Maybe you should try standing in the shadows and shutting the hell up like every other bassogrologist- maybe your playing’d improve if you could hear anything other than yourself.”

“Can we mute Mr. Ed.”

Stewart neighed back obnoxiously at this point taunting him to go on. 

“God you’re such an embarrassing Ugly American,” Gordon hissed refusing to make this fun for him. 

“I grew up here smartass I’m just as English as you,” Stewart made a face back at him in a real mature and sensitive way. 

“You don’t sound like it jackass.”

“At least I don’t look like it headass.”

“-PLEASE can we cease this needless squabbling-”

“You two are jerkasses-” Andy’s commentary trailed off as everyone else stopped and again he found himself in an uncomfortable position in his easy chair. 

Dr. Hyde pushed her spectacles into her hair as she palmed her face in her hands. “Okay, let’s dial it back, how about we list some constructive criticism about we don’t like about each others’ actions instead of going on like this and then list something we do like about him. Does this sound like a good direction to try?” She looked around imploringly at Sting brandishing his yoga roll and Stewart a blade not very cordially. Bloodshed typically wasn’t very conducive to problem solving, anything was worth a try. 

They shrugged dismissively, Andy offered to take on the challenge, open minded chap he was. “Gordon, it’s true you don’t give us the respect to represent the band sometimes and you don’t seem interested in our contributions to where you really half ass your performance if you perform at all while we give it our all on yours.” 

These claims hardly impressed him, stony faced at his criticism. “I’d argue that perspective but-” 

“Let him finish, this is a discussion not a diatribe.” 

Sting crossed his arms but shut up, waiting for Andy to finish airing his grievances. “-Still, you can be a great performer and some of your songs are very good. Pays the gas bills. I value your contributions, I just wish you valued ours. When you don’t seem to care, others start seeing things the same way. We don’t want to be seen as a backing band and we don’t want to be treated like one, we’re a team.”

Stew was more than happy to decide it was all Sting’s fault until Andy began to now confront him somehow (to him) unexpectedly. “Stewart.” 

“?”

“I love you but I wish you’d sometimes take things more seriously, I’m not saying you can’t have fun but there are times you need to be mature about things- like letting Sting get to you, or you goading him to. You can be a real prick too…” At this he made a mockingly shocked expression as if this were novel information. 

“We all have responsibilities and need to act as such. Still, you are essential to us and deserve that recognition. Also when you don’t have a million Sally Lightfoot Crabs up your ass you’re a pleasure to be around and play with.” 

Andy offered his open palm for Stewart to go next with his rebuttal. He stared up at the ceiling readjusting himself with a bodily sigh. “Alright listen up you unfunny fucks, Andy: What the fuck man? I thought you were cool? What’s with this passive aggressive shit? Marriage clownseling???” 

The older man quietly raised his brows, “Well here I was busy feeling sorry for myself for having to babysit you two but poor Sonja-”

“This isn’t about my relationship all of you are lousy partners don’t think I don’t know that. I’m hardly the envious one here.”

“Andy opened his mouth to speak but Sting still seemed to command Stewart’s ardor, “You with all your arrogance somehow still take the cake for twisted jealous brat of the year. You’ve got everything, so what is it that’s still eating at you, what’s good enough? /You’re/ obviously not so you take out this narcissistic inferiority complex on us.” 

“...”

“You have to say something nice too…”

“I’m getting to that, I’m not an asshole even though I walk talk and quack like one at times. You know how it is, some things just bring out the worst in you.” 

“You shouldn’t call Sting a ‘thing’-”

“-So nice to know you save your worst side for us /things/ Stew.”

“You’re making this /very/ difficult.” He inhaled again, “Andy, your playing is wonderfully… understated, it’s really nice meeting a lead guitarist without an ego hang up you can spot from space. ...Sting… You’re not actually the first human descended from gerbils instead of apes. There’s a real humanity to you one might say.”

“You’re too kind.”

“I am you could learn a real lesson from me.”

“Those who can’t do, teach. Do you know you’re a real prat?”

‘I do- you’re supposed to say something nice about me now.”

“Can I say something honest about Andy instead?” Sting glanced towards the guitarist who straightened upright in response, “You’re a bitter little man and I can’t give you writers credits for playing three notes. You’re forgettable, I forget what I was even talking about.”

“You were insulting me,” Andy answered succinctly, his hand propped against his cheek.

“Oh, right. You’re boring and old too. You’re welcome.”

“...”

“NOW you say something NICE.”

“...Puppies.”

“Something nice about me.”

“What Stew said.” 

Andy glared impatiently.

“You put up with me?” he shrugged. “Smell…. Good?”

The room applauding with deafening silence, someone coughed, Dr Hyde sighed and fixed her clipboard. “Now Stewart?”

Sting glanced Stew-wards and swallowed hard. “He’s got… hot legs?”

 

“Not that kind of compliment please.”

“Tight little ass-”

“Sting I don’t think-”

“Let the man speak!” Stewart cut the doctor off, rapt at attention.

“-I think we need to start over and try some more intensive methods, this is worse than I thought.”

“I tried to tell you,” Andy murmured, dreading whatever came next.


	2. Tommy's Holiday Camp Training Montage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A game of trust, or some other made up emotion.

It didn’t come as a surprise that there were groups out there that got along and everyone genuinely liked each other, Sting knew they existed, but like gravity, aliens, and ethical consumption under capitalism, he hadn’t met one, until now apparently. “This is Geddy, Alex, and Neil; When couples having certain /trouble/ cooperating, I sometimes bring them in as an exemplary model for interpersonal behaviors.”

“We’ve met,” Stewart raised his brows slightly. 

“You all will be spending the weekend at- let’s think of it as a sabbatical, together, they’ll help show you to overcome challenges together and learn more about each other and yourselves.”

“So what, like a corporate retreat?” Andy scrunched his eyebrows, he hadn’t been expecting this part at all, therapy was where you sat on a couch for an hour and complained and some twit with a pair of halfmoon spectacles and a tweed coat fixed all your problems then gave you drugs if you were good. Granted, this was his first time trying this, maybe there was more to it than he knew. “Are we going to do like trust falls and bollocks like that? I kind of have other things to do.”

“Things like that,” she answered unhelpfully, “I suppose you can think of it like that, but more like a spiritual journey.” Andy and Stewart glared towards Sting feeling set up. “But yes there will be trust falls.”

 

Squinting up at the midday sun through the canopy of pines, Andy was starting to doubt the likelihood that any amount of thirpy would fix anyone’s lack of respect, like they’d just been grown out of that, and the root of the problem was not something you could simply cut away. Dr. Hyde’s voice grew louder in the distant as the psychologist approached with the others. “I know you’re frustrated about not being given time to prepare yourself for this, but I assure you everything will be provided for in your cabin.”

“And where exactly is this cabin? I haven’t seen anything yet though I’m not exactly expecting a luxury spa,” Sting crossed his arms, looking around. 

“Well you’re in luck, it’s not. You will be given your key at the end of today’s final challenge.” 

“That’s bullshit, what if we don’t win the challenge?” He raised an eyebrow skeptically. 

“It’s not about winning and losing, it’s about making it through together.” 

The three of them had reservations, but if they’d already come this far, it was worth giving it a go. Kind of like going to camp, although some of them would much prefer sitting in a lounge chair by the sea side with a margarita in one hand and the other two nowhere to be found. “So will you be joining me in my bunk tonight doctor?” Sting gave a suggestive smirk, catching Hyde off guard. 

“Oh heavens no, your hour was up ages ago, I’m going home. Geddy, Alex, and Neil will be taking my place. I’ll send your bill to the address I was given, ta ta!” She waved, leaving towards the car they’d came here in. 

As it pulled away, it became obvious what had just happened; they were essentially stranded in the woods, expected to find some elusive cabin but not until bending to the whims of the three Canadians- or whoever kept the key to supposedly the only shelter for miles. And then there was no promise it had a phone, or electricity, or running water. They didn’t know whether to feel abandoned or kidnapped, so yes, exactly like summer camp. 

Stewart gave Neil a look as the dust settled, “You’re not really gonna make us go through with this? I mean I have better things to do, you have better things to do- I have to get home to my wife, she doesn’t know where I am. I don’t know where I am!” 

“Well, yes. We all agreed to this, it’ll be fine. The sooner you do it the sooner we’re done, it doesn’t have to be painful.” 

“Thanks, that makes me feel a lot better...”

 

“See? No pain.” Geddy leaned back allowing himself to fall into Alex’s arms without flinching. “You give it a try, catching someone is easy, letting yourself go is harder.”

Andy and Stewart glanced at each other but went ahead. Taking a deep breath, Andy closed his eyes and let himself relax as he tilted backwards in open air for just a moment, then his body connected with Stewart’s, feeling his strong arms stop his fall. “Very done!” Geddy cheered, “Was that difficult to openly trust Stewart like that?” 

“No,” Andy shook his head unimpressed, unenthusiastic if this whole weekend going to be full of dumb exercises like this.

“Well let’s make it a little more challenging, like I said, it’s not hard to catch someone. It’s important that you do it, but it requires very little of the person being trusted. Now how can we make it so that both people are tested?”

 

“I don’t like this,” Andy squirmed holding his arms out hesitantly. It felt more than a little unfair putting him in this position now, Stewart was much larger than him, and there was no telling whether he’d try to pull something with him. 

“ARE YOU SAYING I’M CHICKEN? BECAUSE I AM TOTALLY GONNA DO THIS!” Stewart shouted from the top of the platform far above their heads. 

Sting called back, “That’s the spirit Stew! You’re not afraid of a little fall because you trust Andy boy to catch you!” 

“Don’t distract me, I’m trying not to get squashed here,” Andy snapped at him to stand out of his way. He hadn’t expected the bassist- the other bassist, of malicious action, but he could only hope no one noticed him shaking. 

“Come off it, you’re a tough old bird, and Stew’s just a wisp of a boy- what you /really/ need to worry about is him breaking his neck. PschooooooCRACK,” he gestured, smacking his fist hard against his palm morbidly in front of the other man, “Know any good drummers?”

“OK I’M GONNA DO IT,” Stewart bellowed again, turning his back towards the small crowd and holding his arms out to the side like a diver. 

Andy gritted his teeth, bracing himself, “Alright! Just- on the count of five. One-” 

“TWOTHREEFIVE GO!”

Stewart tipped back and his long form came plummeting down like a lead zeppelin, right on top of them. At least he’d been accurate, technically Andy succeeded at exactly what he was supposed to do. Still glad to have faculty of them, he kicked his legs frantically under the pile of bodies, “You’re crushing me geroff geroff geroff!” 

“Wow I can’t believe you actually did it!” Stewart chirped, a little dazed but otherwise untouched, “Thanks Andy, I’ll admit I actually was really nervous but you came through. If it had been Sting- hah- there would’ve been no way I would have jumped from there. Say, where is he by the way?” 

A muffled angry swearing came from somewhere under his backside that grew much clearer and angrier as he helped Andy up and dusted him off. “Oh, hey. What were you doing down there?” 

If looks could kill, Sting would have vaporized Stewart on the spot. 

 

“Can we do something a little less I don’t know, dangerous?” Andy knitted his brows walking up to Alex and Neil who seemed deep in thought about how to proceed. “This is about trust and communication or whatever, what about charades?”

“Sure! Knife throwing sounds like a great idea,” Alex perked up. 

“Knife Throwing!?” Andy looked faint. 

“Ohhh wait no you said /charades/,” he smacked his forehead at his simple mistake, “No. No charades, I hate it.”

“You only hate it because you’re bad at it,” Neil retorted, “‘Atlas Shrugged’ should’ve been an easy one but you kept shouting ‘raise the roof’.”

“I can’t be great at everything, if literary charades is my weak spot, so be it. I can live with that. So knife throwing’s off the table for sure?” 

“I thought the goal here was to teach everyone to respect each other, not traumatize and maim them,” Andy narrowed his eyes, “We can do the charades.”

“I’d lose respect for anyone who insisted upon doing charades,” Alex stated with finality,”How about something else instead, we could move onto the eye contact experiment?” 

“And what would that entail?”

“Ten minutes unbroken eye contact, just focusing on the person you’re looking at, noticing things about them, dissolving yourself in their presence.”

“Actually let’s try the knife throwing instead,” Andy grimaced. 

“I have a way that’d make it more interesting,” Neil suggested, “You could each draw a picture of the other based on just what you think he looks like, the features that stand out in your memory. Then draw each other while directly in front of you. Then once more from memory but after having really studied them- see how you perceive someone changes.”

“Hm, that actually sounds intriguing, or at least entertaining. Sure, let’s give it a go.” Andy was the most artistically inclined of the three, not to say any of them had any talent as a drawer. It’d probably come out as some sort of offensive caricature or crude abstraction, but now his curiosity had been piqued. 

 

“Okay you stumped me, so what are these for?” Stewart held a bundle of somewhat melted crayons between his fingers up at them. A stack of junk paper was set by the cluster of stumps set around the inactive fire pit in addition to whatever else they managed to find that could constitute art supplies. 

“Our next game is about getting to know each other,” Andy explained, handing him and Sting old books to bear down on. “You draw each other from memory then turn around and do it again while really focusing on the other, then one more time on your own to see how you see them changes.” 

Stewart groused but Neil reminded him that his option had originally been to stare intensely at each other until they set aside their differences or started making out or whatever that would achieve besides making everyone incredibly uncomfortable. Instead everyone would just insult each other with their ‘art’, but at least there was some fun in that. Andy eyed the two as they sat back to back scribbling away, Stewart had gotten as far as a particularly angry looking square, and honestly, it was pretty spot on: beady little eyes and a button nose, porcupine hair do- classic Sting. He on the other hand wasn’t fairing quite as well, apparently the only thing that stood out about Stew was that he was particularly long. Turned out he had facial features as well, which created some marked difficulty. 

“Alright papers down,” Neil called like a test proctor, and walked about surveying the scene as they rearranged themselves to face eye to eye, or had it been Andy in this situation probably eye to long/angry square chin. You’d received a detailed rendering from the nose down (short jokes were only funny when /he/ got to make them). 

Sting immediately began working, methodically trying to block in whatever he could of the other man’s features- roughly shaping an oval and adding bits here and there. Periodically Stewart would glance up from what he was working on but it wasn’t often that their eyes actually met. Having such a short time limit abstracted things, it didn’t so much become him any more so much as a collection of curves and edges one had to identify. It was only when they were both staring at the other that that reminder eclipsed the need to work. 

Knowing someone in pieces seemed to make them uglier, noticing flaring nose, sort of a sneering perpetual pout, deepset, dark rimmed eyes narrowed towards him, gaunt cheeks, that flyaway mass of bleach blonde hair that made them identical triplets to everyone else. It was almost a shame for at a glance he’d admit he was attractive, perhaps if he’d continued staring it would loop back around again but things were already awkward enough without hyperfixating on how kissible his lips were. He hadn’t noticed himself making this awful face screwed up in concentration until they’d finished and Stewart held up a frankly hideous drawing where his face was busy being sucked into a pissed off vortex. “I don’t look like that,” he protested. 

“It’s your inner beauty shining through.”

For his next rendering, Sting just drew a blonde horse, it was more or less accurate. Horses are kind of like big dogs right? With hooves? In a fit of inspiration, he added Andy jockeying on top backwards. In return Sting received a pink square. “It’s your next album cover.” Sting threw the drawing into the fire pit. 

 

“I appreciate the effort but I’m not really sure this is going anywhere,” Andy commented well into their sixth challenge of the afternoon: a blindfolded obstacle course. He winced watching Sting plow into another tree as Stewart shouted directions at him, at this point it didn’t even matter whom was fucking with whom, after a long day of futile exercises, one’s faculties began to fail. Each man was soaked, covered head to toe in all sorts of grime, from the relay egg race to the dunk tank which in no way facilitated honest open discussion. 

Geddy sighed and flipped through the pages on his clipboard looking for another trust building game to suggest in hopes something would eventually connect with them. The three of them had tried to show their support in playing alongside them, but managed to show them up without fail (something about ‘teamwork’ or some other corporate jargon like that). “Ah, maybe you’re right,” he set the papers back in order and rested the board in his lap, “We should probably turn in for the day and try again tomorrow with fresh faces. But there still is the scavenger hunt…”

“Hm?” Stewart turned his attention towards them as Sting fell through the bridge with a fuck. 

“Yeah,” Alex glanced, ‘To find your room key.”

“Shit! I’d forgotten all about that.” He pushed a hand through his damp hair, “You could just show us where it is and call it quits early, we won’t snitch on you for not finishing your job. Afterall we all need uh, reflection, yeah, after our ‘bonding experience’. Gotta process all them emotions. Mhm, actualize my potential.”

“Well, I’m not saying we wouldn’t /like to/,” the bassist began, “It’s just that, we don’t know where it is either. I’m serious when I say I only know as much as the first clue, I’m sorry. I’m sure between the three of you it shouldn’t be too much of an ordeal. We’ll join you if you really need us to, we just want to help this great band become the great friends you deserve to be.”

“We don’t deserve you guys,” Stewart sniffed smiling. 

Andy rolled his eyes, trying to keep their earlier faux passes repressed. “I think we can manage, thanks, though. We’ll join you later- oh no Sting’s caught in the snare again. We gotta get him down before he hurts himself.”

“...Try- try and work on those communication skills right there hey.”

Andy gave a thumbs up and ran after Stewart, despite everything, at the end of the day still eager to help their friend when he needed them. 

“... .../No! Not into the bear trap!/”


	3. Gord of The Flies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Misery loves company.

“‘In the hollow of the oak awaits your first clue.’ Oh gee thanks that’s vague, lot of help. Shouldn’t have been so quick to lie boldfaced to the guys we were confident competent adults.” Stewart dropped his hands to his sides, “Never did give ‘em a proper apology for being such a cocky twat either, I’m sure they forgive us but- that just makes me feel worse about it.”

Sting limped boldly over, “There’ll be time to repent later, looks like we’ll just have to search each and every one of these, let’s split up. You go here, Andy look there, I’ll check this one-”

“That’s a birch-”

“You’re a birch.”

“Found it,” Andy cut them off mercifully quickly.”

“Oh? Great! Bring it here.”

Andy gave Stewart a withering glare as he pointed, one hand poised at his hip, to a nook about 10 feet above his head. 

“Ohhhhhhehhhh… Yeah that’s a bit of a pre-dic-a-ment you got there. Well, here goes nothing.” 

The drummer stretched for a minute, touching his toes to his hands behind himself then charged at the tree, scrambling to get up it. While he managed a few feet, his hand hold on the trunk failed and he slipped back down with a thump. 

"Try it again and see what happens." It was somewhat impressive witnessing Stewart's drive but after multiple efforts he'd gotten no further up the smooth sides of the tree. 

"I know you're going /really well/ with this tree climbing joint you're at but would it offend if I suggested we work together instead. What if I got on your shoulders, you do love reminding me how much taller you are than I."

Stewart blinked haltingly at Andy and slowly began sliding back down to an anticlimatic pile in the leaf litter. "Well... I'll try anything once, but I don't know if that'll close the difference just going that."

"Get Sting over here, hey! Gordon, do you think you can climb up on Stewart's shoulders then lift me up?"

He winced and rubbed his sore head gauging the height and sucked in a breath, "I don't think I should be climbing anything for a while. Plus I doubt Stewart could stand the weight, you'd be better putting me on the bottom."

They'd done some cheerleader antics before, the two of them lifting and dicking around with Andy or some other stunt, it was doable. With the trunk to steady himself, Stewart could probably get onto his back, but it was ill advised he stand on such unstable ground. "Okay, wrap your legs around me though, I'm admittedly a bit shaky." He neglected to mention the bear trap but that comment hovered over that period.   
'   
"Sorry about that," Stewart dipped his head bashfully, "...I swear I wasn't trying to get you hurt."

"You didn't seem too upset when I did."

"Wellll, you'd laugh too if I plowed headlong into a tree I couldn't identify."

"I was blindfolded."

"Oak."

"Thank you..."

With some ease, the younger man placed his hands on his shoulders and hoisted himself up onto his form, feeting locking together at the ankles as he wriggled into place against the back of his bandmate's neck. "Ok Anders you are clear for take off."

"Copy that." Their eldest clenched his teeth and carefully clambored his way up, trepidatiously gripping the tree as he deliberately made his way into an upright position. "How are you holding up down there?"

"Fine! Just hurry up, do you see it?!"

Andy leaned forward, glimpsing a wisp of white paper- of course- and plucked it just within his reach. "Got it, can you let me down- /carefully/."

With a little help he let himself drop to his feet. Sting slowly sunk to his knees then sitting position. He cleared his throat at Stewart's lack of movement. "Enjoying yourself?"

"A little," he grinned, and exhaled peeling himself away, back on terra firma. Sting glanced at him and lifted his arms, Stewart pausing 'oh!' and pulled him up. Massaging the back of his neck, he walked over towards Andy peering over his shoulder, "What's it say? I hope we're not just going to be led around by the nose all day with Stew rubbing his nuts up against my head."

"I could get used to it."

"You know what I was wrong earlier, you're heavier than you look." 

"Solid muscle baby. Grade A lean American beef." Stewart beamed wider, making a show of doing his best Charles Atlas for him. 

Sting chuffed at him and swatted his ass. Andy flipped over the slip of paper again, trying to make out the water damaged ink. "Forty paces easy- east."

They sized each other up hemming and hawing and decided to head away from the soon setting sun together, seeing where their individual gaits put them, then scrunged around in the brush for whatever might turn up. Again, Andy was the only one who managed to produce something. "Just beyond the reedy river." 

"You know what, lead the way, I'm gonna nominate you navigator. Just show us where to go." 

Folding the paper in his pocket he smiled a bit, pleased with the suggestion however trivial the honorism may be. From this distance they could hear the flow of water if they concentrated though it took a while to actually reach it, the tangle of undergrowth rising past their knees. A carpet of plants choked the shore and it was unclear exactly how they'd get to the other side even as Andy pointed out another tag attached to a log rising out of the water. 

“Well shoot,” he scratched his head, “I’m not going swimming. You two can figure this one out, I’ll be right here helping you in spirit.”

Stewart scowled, exchanging looks with Sting, resigning themselves eventually and scouting out the best way to reach it from the shore. Too far away to just grab it, here the creek was fairly wide, and the bottom was difficult to make out. Taking the initiative, Stew attempted to scale one of the trees again, this time actually making it up pretty far- the circumference narrow enough to wrap his legs around it and shimmy up. The limb bowed the further he went, hanging precariously over the river like a koala then letting his legs swing free before dropping to the ground kicking up sand as he landed. It wasn’t as far to try and get to the tag now, but it would still be a challenge to get to it without putting on big boy britches and wading into freezing cold water. Taking a stick to try and knock it closer, he only succeeded in knocking it into the current. “Shit! Shit shit shit, get it!” he dashed downstream, Sting mirroring his motions. Eventually it caught on a clump of cattails, Sting picking it up with a branch, wrinkling his nose and frowning at the blurring text of the rapidly disintegrating paper. 

“I can barely read this. Toward… shhghheeehhh… ...80 something.” He shook his head, “Andy you try, I can’t do anything with this.”

Struggling to parse it, the note was well past any kind of legibility, the fibers sticking together in a gray heap. “South- east or west, 80 paces… We’ll have to get to the other side, I’m still not going swimming. Can you move that log ‘n we can try and…” he inhaled sharply, running a hand through his egg yolk spiked hair and pacing in a staggered circle, “I don’t know. Split up, see if we can find anything.”

Stewart dragged a fallen log and rolled it down the sloping bank, muscles straining to heft the water-logged wood. Part of it sunk deep into the muck of the creekbed, deeper than initially expected, the portion above water leaning against the edges thick with reeds and roots sagging forebodingly. The two of them cautiously stepped across, mud squishing between their fingers as they pulled themselves up the bank and onto dry ground. 

They wiped their hands on their jeans and yoga pants respectively grimacing and looking around 'well where is it', feeling stupid, then increasingly anxious as they groped the fading light. Wandering the sunset to no avail, the sky grew dark, eyes strained to use the last vestiges to see by. "This is pointless-" Andy broke the evensong of crickets and other crepuscular beings. "We're not going to find it. We should just give up and head back."

"Give up?" Stewart spoke the word foreignly, always the last person to suggest such a thing. As irritating he could be that indefatigable refusal to surrender kept them going when there'd been no way save for his will. Admirable, really, but it was evident this had become a lost cause with no leads and it wouldn't be long before they were lost to darkness. 

"Stewart-" Sting halted, "We really should head back. At least they'll be able to find us in the morning."

"... You're probably right." He bit his cheek, brushing past some shrubs towards the two.

"I'm right!" Sting whispered in awe to himself taking in this rare moment of beauty. 

Finding the river was the least of their worries, the murmur of the water mingling with the chorus of frogs drew them back. Mercifully their slapdash bridge had held up against the current, shuddering as their wilderness guide scrambled across and slipping further into disrepair as Sting followed. Andy eyed it with some suspicion, taking an experimental step, then another, then slipped through, the rotted wood finally giving way. "Fuck!-" Stewart and Sting jerked their heads around, catching him plunging into the cold water. "Get me out of here!" he shrieked, struggling to pull himself onto the log which continued to splinter and fall away as he did so. Stewart dug his feet into the mud and held an arm out, gripping a tree limb to steady himself. "Come closer, I can't reach you." 

"Fuck you!" Andy spat, kicking to keep his head above water, "I said I wasn't swimming! Come in here and get me you pussy!"

Stewart tried waving a stick in his direction but it snapped as he grabbed hold. Sting squared his jaw and tossed his clothes aside, jumping in and immediately regretting the shock of the bitterly cold water. "Holy shit that's freezing-" Stewart rolled his eyes as Sting grabbed their bandmate in one arm and took his outstretched hand with the other. "T-Thanks," he chattered, drying themselves off on his shirt, Stewart's arms tightly crossed refusing to give his up as Andy peeled off his soaked clothes. "Very sexy guys, I hope there's no paparazzi lurking about these woods just waiting for the next big headline: 'Rock Group Spotted Secret Forest Orgy Or Naked Satanist Ritual?' ," he gestured emphatically. 

"Give me your goddamn shirt Copeland," Andy grabbed at him, taking a handful in his fist and yanking it over his head in a vulnerable moment. 

"Hey!" he barked laughing, "You owe me a new shirt Creature from the Black Lagoon." 

Andy balled the dirty tee and tossed it back at him, "If you find me a hot shower and a bed I'll buy you an entire wardrobe."

Sting chuckled, "If I never have to do this again I'll get you both a personal stylist, maybe then you can wear something other than those god awful little shorts."

"Hey! I make them work! Skies out thighs out, don't like it poke your eyes out." 

He shook his head and grinned, "The offer's still on the table if you ever change your mind."

"I wouldn't hold your breath hotstuff." 

 

"We should set up camp," Sting stated as thunder rumbled across the sky. 

"Know anything about camping?" Andy raised his eyebrows to which the other man held a finger to his chin deep in thought to decide if he did. 

"-I've picked up a thing or two," Stewart offered. Whenever he revealed some skill or talent out of the blue his answer as to how was always some dubiously credible story about his childhood in the streets of Beirut or his early days in the music biz or his abbreviated college career or something his older siblings had taught him or some book he read and then acted like this was of course something /everyone/ knew so why should it be any mystery as to how he knew. Having met his bizarre family, it was probably a better question asking what didn't he have some inkling of knowledge of. '...Wines, don't know a damn thing about fancy shit like that.' 

Sting rolled out his yoga mat under their makeshift leanto, following his advice. "The important thing is not just having something to keep the weather off you, but you don't wanna be just lying on bare ground, that's how you end up with hypothermia, sucks the heat right outta you." It'd be a tight fit with the three of them but given everything comfort wasn't exactly the primary concern, especially with the storm growing louder and more frequent. 

"Kinda brings back memories don't it?" 

"Hm?"

"Of the early days, sleeping 2, 3, 4 to a bed in some seedy motel," Sting propped himself up on his elbows. 

"God haha... Miles was so fucking cheap. I'd be exhausted from playing all night and there's Stewart snoring in my ear and you trying to steal the blankets every few minutes I'd have to beat you with one of the pillows to get you to stop then try and smother Stew to shut him up."

"Oh and that's not nearly as bad as you farting up a storm; I can handle Stingo getting grabby in his sleep, I'm just lucky I didn't get poisoned."

"Count yourself lucky then, none of us have eaten anything since this morning, why don't you hunt us a rabbit or something nature boy or I'll keep you up with my stomach growling."

"You'll live it's not like it-"

"-Don't say it," Andy snapped, his words drowned out by a deafening peal of thunder overhead and the sky opening up. "...Great..."

"-I was going to say, nevermind." Stewart sighed and settled back down, staring up at the cracked tarp, a droplet leaking through a hole and dripping on his face. This would be another long night. 

 

"Big crowd tonight." Ian commented poking his head back from around the curtain, "Ready to knock 'em dead?" In the back, the band were amping themselves up, Sting slung his bass over his shoulder and waited for the cue, strutting out in front of the audience preparing to launch into 'Roxanne' when he was cut off by giggling. He opened his mouth to sing but there was another peal of snickering, what was this about? Sting looked at whatever his goofy bandmates were playing at but found it was just him onstage, completely naked. 

As he realized this, his face reddening, the laughing grew louder and louder and he slunk backstage trying to find something to cover himself with and stop this incessant laughter. A pair of Stewart's sweaty athletic shorts hung ontop of his amp and he grabbed it to toss them out of the way in disgust but halted himself given this was probably his only option- normally packed backstage, everyone had vanished as soon as he found himself in the spotlight. He still checked over his shoulder however when he furtively pulled them up his legs, the red of his cheeks still burning. Somehow putting them on made him feel even more naked, the way the thin fabric clung to him, desperately tugging, attempting to cover more than they could.

"Not bad," a voice commented, cutting through the din. Sting whipped around holding his instrument tightly in front of his crotch, coming face to face with Stewart's smirk, his half-lidded eyes surveying the scene before him. "Not bad at all." And he leaned in, kissing him deeply.

Sting moaned in his sleep, lips nuzzling against him, "Keep licking me like that you fucking tease," he mumbled, swatting at them playfully. Stewart opened an eye as there was a loud snarling right in his ear, "What the hell?" 

Sting's eyes flung open, staring in abrupt confusion at a hairy snout baring its teeth at him as he froze. "-Gord?" Stewart sat up yawning, adjusting to the misty early morning light, "What's goin' on?"

"-There's a dog, a big dog," he laid stock still, the creature's breath hot on his face. 

Stewart rubbed his eyes, probably fucking up his contacts when he did so. Focusing his vision, he blanched, scrambling back. "Jesus fucking Christ that's a bear!" 

"A BEAR? No it's not a fucking bear, it's a big fucking dog and it was licking me!" Sting argued, the animal tearing their tent apart as it lumbered forward.

Andy woke to shouting, his back painfully stiff and skin clammy. "This isn't fucking England, they have bears here, it's a fucking bear!" Stewart got to his feet, drawing its attention as he grabbed his things beginning to run. "What the hell are you going on about, it's too early for this shit," Andy grumbled. 

The bear switched directions following the figure before breaking into a run, faster on four legs than one would have anticipated from such a creature. Sting and Andy stood watching this unfold too close for comfort, "Don't try climbing any oak trees Stew, it's a bear!"

"OH SO NOW YOU ADMIT IT'S A FUCKING BEAR!" he hollered, swinging his roller skates at it. 

"Stay still, it can't see you that way!" Andy offered. 

"That's crocodiles!" One of the blades hit it in the nose, and roaring it swiped at him, grazing his bare back. "FUCK!"

Sting dashed after him, shouting bear insults at it to try and divide its focus. "Heyeyeyyy! Over here! Fat- hairy ass bastard. Fish breath!" Picking up a branch, he chucked it at its rear and it twisted around, caught betwixt them and Andy approaching reluctant. 

He continued making noise, giving Stewart an opportunity to move away, when unexpectedly, it charged, overtaking him with a strength he couldn't resist. "STING!" 

It had knocked the breath right out of him and knocked him flat on his back, the horizon had turned into a furry brown landscape without his vision blurring. So this had been what the bear trap was for. Huh. Bears. His eyelids were heavy, the weight on his chest heavier still, pricks of blood welling up under its long curved claws and a warm familiar ache at the back of his skull. /So I'm gonna die. Huh. Hadn't expected it this way, can't complain I guess.../ “Andy- Stewart… Despite everything I’ve ever said I… I always kind of liked y-”

"Don't you fucking touch him you furry motherfucker!" There was a second crack, a pair of skates connecting with the back of its skull, Stewart looking wild eyed as he bravely (however stupidly) wrestled with the bear, all of this happening real life in front of Sting's people eyes. 

"Can you move?" Andy spoke, crouched by him, staying small, unnoticed. "... … ...Yeah?" Sting winced, rolling onto all fours, "My head hurts like a bitch." 

"Stewart's gonna get fucking killed."

"Yeah, he sure is. RIP in piece."

Andy shot him a look and got up, trying again to keep it from eviscerating their drummer. "I thought loud noises were supposed to scare bears away!" 

"That's what I thought too!" Stewart choked out hanging from its neck, "Hit it with a stick or something, I dropped my skates."

Andy snatched up one of the heavy shoes and chucked it at the bear, "Ah, there's more where that came from. Go on, shoo you big brute." His heart was hammering in his chest as he came closer, throwing the other skate hard as he could at it. Stewart let go and picked up the pair, smacking them together and yelling after the animal maniacally while Andy followed up with a hail of stones. Chances are they’d merely pissed it off, but sensing this wasn’t going to let up, it waddled back into the forest where people weren’t going to throw things at it. 

As its form disappeared in the distance, they cheered feeling confident and manly only to turn around to a pair of headlights cutting through the fog that had probably intimidated this disturbingly persistent animal more than they had. “-Is that?”

The car stopped, a door swinging open and Dr. Hyde neatly stepped out once again. “Oh why hello you’re up early this morning, sleep well?” 

Sting staggered upright and the three just stared dumbfounded as a second vehicle arrived, Rush getting out of the backseat, followed by Ian and Miles. There was no way they’d by some crazy luck gotten worried about their brief disappearance and come to save them, no way. This was a set up. Even Andy was completely astonished, his expression of exhausted surprised turning to vindictiveness. “I trust you’ve learned a lesson from all of this,” Miles stated plainly betraying the crisis that had been just a few seconds ago.

“This was… to teach us a lesson?” Sting sputtered, looking about to have an aneurysm on top of his multitude of injury.

“-We nearly DIED!” 

“You set me up…” Stewart was beyond shaken, wild eyed and teetering on edge, “How could you do this to me? Miles- yeah I could see that but Ian, you too? You were like a brother to me.” 

“Stewart I am your brother.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.”

“You look terrible, what exactly happened?” his brows knit looking the three of them over concerned, “Where are your clothes? This was supposed to be a fun and easy exercise.”

“Oh we were attacked by a bear,” Andy perfunctorily declared as if it wasn’t obvious by the claw marks littering their bodies. 

“A bear?” Ian retorted in suspicion, “Are you sure it wasn’t just a big dog. If you’re going to complain, don’t lie about it. Just say you got into a fight, it’s less embarrassing to be honest. We all know you have difficulties getting along, that’s why we felt spending some time alone working together would help.” 

“We fought a bear together.”

“That’s even less credible, how about we just head back and you take it easy for a few days, you really did a number on each other. It was worth a try though.”

Miles gave them resting disappointment face and opened the car door to usher them inside for the awkward ride back. “I know you don’t appreciate or understand it, but I do so much for you three I swear.”

“You know what /always/ helps people bond in desperate times,” Stewart commented to the backseat gazing ahead dead-eyed, “A common enemy.”

It was never said they couldn't agree on things at times.


End file.
